ual literature is no more ground for indignation than that which makes others homosexual or fetishistic, but unlike most such peculiarities it carries a strong wish to impose itself on others. Not all demands for censorship are made by disturbed people, but their terms of reference in our culture have been. If moral custodians of adult reading were necessary, those who volunteer should be disqualified in any event.

Sexually sensitive people, like squeamish people, have a right to ask that things which disturb them should. not be forced on their notice without due cause. A book remains shut until it is voluntarily opened, and it can be voluntarily closed at any time. The proper thing to do with the moral censorship of literature is to abolish it in every context involving free adult choice. Yours &c.,

ALEX COMFORT.

BOOKS

MUSCLE BOY by Bud Clifton, Ace Books, Inc.

This novel has more turns of plot than a thinking man's western. Bud Clifton who wrote this book certainly provides his characters with an abundance of Things To Do. Trouble is, these "things" are so improbable that the reader may have trouble keeping them all straight.

Some who read this book are apt to think the boot and belt guys are freaks or something. Perhaps they are not so uncommon at all, and the aura of mystery and excitement is not as mysterious or exciting as the author would have us believe.

This is the story of a young fellow who works out in a gym, then is invited to pose for some physique pictures. The machinations of the beefcake photo business are only hinted at. We are led to think there is a small fortune in it for the muscle boys who pose before the not-socandid camera.

After much intrigue, the real cause of which we are never told, our hero returns to his girl. In the last para-

graph they go together to a pineforest cabin where they have themselves a real ball.

All of which goes to show that you don't have to be a ninety-seven-pound weakling to make out with a girl; even the muscle boy can do it.

B.T.

SAM by Lonnie Coleman, David McKay, Inc., 1959, $3.95, 245

pp.

Lonnie Coleman's satisfactory new romance is a perfect example of misconception, one held to a certain extent by the author, of realism; it is not, simply because the author is on occasion rather more specific than otherwise as to situation and explicit as to word, life without glamor and an expose of the sordid. SAM is a good honest love story wherein the hero finds or appears to find the man of his dreams. In the trappings of 20th century New York it is still the Victorian drama of Love Triumphant, and I, for one, am all for it.

Sam, (the name is an obviously homey touch) is Samuel Kendrick, a

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